


before i fade away

by nachseon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Falling In Love, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Little Allura, Little Lotor, Lost Love, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Minor Violence, Pining Allura (Voltron), Terminal Illnesses, This Is Sad, Tragic Romance, Vomiting, but not really, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-19 07:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachseon/pseuds/nachseon
Summary: was an emotion really the worst thing that could happen to someone?the short answer is yes.yes it was.





	before i fade away

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi!!!! im alive my summer break is over in ~2 days and i havent started any summer hw;;; what better way to procrastinate than to write some Pain™ ft these fuckers ;^) honestly lotor/allura ruined me so much and im a sucker for this trope so :) i hope u enjoy :))))
> 
> ps, ur gonna need tissues

_"There is nothing so mortifying as to fall in love with someone who does not share one's sentiments."_

As a young girl, Allura couldn't have disagreed more. She'd read one of her father's many books from Earth and the phrase had always stuck with her. It invoked a ceaseless thought in her that, until she grew older and experienced it for herself, had plagued her constantly. For a princess as spirited and outspoken as she, Allura wondered if – despite the more frequent wars breaking out all throughout the universe and the more frequent destruction of planet after planet – an unrequited love could even hold a candle to the slow, systematic and painful decimation of the universe? Was an _emotion_ really the worst thing that could happen to someone?

The short answer is yes.

Yes, it was.

\- - -

It was the eve of Allura’s birthday and Lotor had instituted a tradition between them a few years prior that he made _sure_ he kept. No matter the consequences, even if it meant his father would scold him, threaten to lock him away for a few quintents.

Okay, perhaps not that last bit.

Being locked away meant he couldn’t see Allura, and Lotor wasn’t exactly capable of _not_ being around his best and only friend.

“ _Must_ we go now?” she’d grumbled, following along as she groggily rubbed the remnants of her dreams from her eyes. “Lotor, I’m tired. I want to go back to bed. Can’t we sneak out tomorrow evening?”

With a laugh, Lotor wordlessly took her hand and led her the rest of the way up the small hill, past the castle gardens and past the juniberry field, bringing them to a small meadow with only a single wisteria tree that sat at a perfect angle to watch the stars. At the base laid a blanket and a subtle, cerise blush settled across Allura's cheeks as Lotor coaxed her to him.

"Sit," he'd encouraged, patting the spot beside him. "Come here."

Allura obliged and curled up against Lotor's body, resting her head comfortably on his chest as she gazed up at the sky with a delicate smile. Being as far away as they were from the castle, Allura could see perfectly how the stars aligned above them, and marveled with a childlike wonder at the shimmer of divine coatings of diamonds the Gods had generously sprinkled in the sky _just_ that night. She tilted her head up to meet Lotor's gaze, and saw the same enchanted look on his face – while looking at _her_. The princess's heart skipped a beat and she flushed, settling back against Lotor's chest without a word. He smiled down at her, and pointed up to a cluster of stars.

"Do you see that one? That's the constellation Damia, just north of the Dalterion Belt over there."

"Over to the east is Ardeidae Minor," Allura smiled. "That one's my favorite."

"No, silly, it's to the _west_. I'd have thought you know your constellations, _Princess_."

"I do!" A haughty, prideful huff left Allura's lips and she pouted. " _You're_ the one that needs to brush up on your astronomy, Your _Highness_."

They both laughed and stayed as they were, content in each other's innocent embrace as they watched the stars, poking fun at their abilities – or lack thereof – to name the visible constellations. A fleeting beacon of light raced across the sky, and both she and Lotor had scrambled to make a wish before the magic disappeared. Even millennia later, Allura would still distinctly remember her wish:

_Please let us stay together forever._

Fate, however, proved to be a cruel, cruel mistress.

Silence soon fell between them and the only sounds Allura heard were the soothing hum of crickets and passing of water in a nearby creek, but even they were drowned out by the slow, steady rhythm of Lotor's heartbeat right against her ear, reminding her that that moment was very much real. Allura spoke a while later, closing her eyes with a relaxed hum.

"You dragged me out in the middle of the night to watch the stars," she'd teased, "but you've hardly given them a second glance."

"I am looking," he'd winked, sporting a cheeky grin. "There's a star right here."

Lotor playfully flicked Allura's forehead and she yelped, but the pair soon found themselves in a fit of hysteric giggling for a decent five or so dobashes. They joked underneath the stars until the early vargas of the morning, when the sky had painted itself in a beautifully abstract mish-mash of oranges and pinks and blues and purples. Allura had laughed herself into a peaceful sleep and exhaled quiet sighs as she slept, still curled up in Lotor's arms.

"Sleep well, starshine."

\- - -

Allura doesn’t remember when it started, it just… happened. She was about twelve. Thirteen, maybe. She woke up one day and couldn’t breathe and it felt like the weight of the whole universe sat upon her chest, holding her down and making sure she was kept there from relentless, pure agony. She coughed for a good ten dobashes, hacking up blood and phlegm and sufficiently terrifying both her parents and Coran before a tulip bulb came flying out of her mouth and just like that, all the pain just dissipated into nothingness, as quickly as it came to begin with. When Coran picked it up, Allura's mother sobbed, holding her only daughter to her chest as she muttered apologies and prayers of wellness, but the young princess didn't know why.

Such became a daily routine – coughing up flower buds after dangerous fits at random, and of course it only got worse from there. Bulbs soon grew into sprouts, which in turn grew into tall, fully bloomed tulips, each of which were a warm cream color. Those were the most painful to cough up, and it often took as long as half a varga to get out. But each time she did, the pain disappeared as abruptly it came and she thought it was fine.

She was fine.

Allura even began to pot and save the flowers she coughed up, caring for them delicately despite the specks of her crimson ichor staining the petals, a grotesque reminder of the pain it took to get them out in the first place. Allura never told anyone else about the flowers, especially Lotor. She hardly knew the cause of this and didn’t want to needlessly worry someone else about it, let alone him. Besides, it would just go away on its own, like most ailments do.

Or so she thought.

She was about sixteen when she could finally put a name to it. Hanahaki Disease, it was called, afflicting those who had been cursed with an unrequited love that – unless halted by surgical intervention or the instance of a miracle – caused flowers to grow in one's lungs and be coughed out painfully, excruciatingly: until one day the victim would suffocate to death on their own impossible love. Allura was reluctant at best, but the physician's diagnosis surely explained the sudden urges she had to cry just by looking into Lotor's eyes, and it was at that moment that Allura knew that she was utterly, irrevocably, hopelessly, and ardently in love with her best friend.

It was worst when they were together. Each day her dear friend brought her a flower crown – proudly handmade himself, of course – was another day Allura's heart ached a little more. More often than not did the Altean princess have to excuse herself, run off somewhere he couldn't follow her to throw up a volley of tulips and petals, and the universal weight on her shoulders only expanded, as the cosmos tends to do.

She remembers him barging into her room, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. His hair had been strewn all about his face and all Allura could think of in that moment was how unattainably beautiful Lotor had looked, eyes blown wide from worry for _her_ as he approached her frame, curled up pathetically on the floor beside a waste bucket. The distance between them went from far too much to far too close far too quickly, but Allura couldn’t deny the security she’d felt when his arms wrapped tightly around her.

“They wouldn’t let me come to you,” he’d panted. Lotor’s gaze fell immediately upon the macabre constellation of Allura’s agonizing love for him scattered around them both on the floor, and he fell to his knees helplessly beside her. “Allura, starshine, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”

There was no use hiding it anymore. He’d seen everything and Allura knew that her lie had finally caught up to her. Exhaling a shaky sigh, she leaned into his embrace. “I’ve dealt with this for years now,” she murmured. “It’ll only get worse from here.”

Allura would later regret daring to meet his gaze; his eyes were glossed over from unshed tears and she witnessed the same look of panic and guilt in him, identical to the time he'd accidentally punched one of her baby teeth out while sparring. Lotor's heart had shattered just as easily as the fine porcelain vase he'd once broken in her room, obvious from the sudden tremor of his hands, the choked gasp let loose from his lips. Neither of them spoke and Allura yanked herself away from him then, leaning over the waste bucket as she retched. Lotor stayed dutifully by his princess's side, holding back her hair and cradling her delicately in his arms as she cried, flower after flower forcing its way out.

He'd begged her to get the surgery. To do anything to get better. "You're going to _die_ ," He’d reasoned, voice cracking. "No one could possibly be worth this much suffering."

" _No_ ," she'd insisted. "I don't want to forget him. Not in a million decaphebes."

\- - -

It was one year later when Altea was destroyed, leaving nothing behind but the flickering embers of what used to be; pride and dignity, freedom and liberty. All Allura could do was watch in a mesmerized horror as her people, her home, _everything_ she knew burned to nothing but ashes and dust. That year, she stopped receiving handmade flower crowns every day. That year, she stopped sparring in the castle gardens. That year, she didn't sneak out to go stargazing on the eve of her birthday.

That year, he'd null and voided all his childhood promises to her and left her all alone when she needed him most.

That year was when it was worst.

She coughed up blossoms more frequently and each one was bigger and bloodier and more painful than the last. If not for Coran putting her in cryosleep, Allura was sure she’d have died as well. And even after she woke up the flowers still came, and she still potted and took delicate care of each and every one. The petals had metamorphosed from an innocent cream into a hauntingly beautiful shade of lavender that matched the ethereal glow of Lotor's skin that she so dearly remembered, and each time she saw them, Allura hung her head and cried.

\- - -

They meet again on opposite sides of the war – but it's due to pitiless universal forces that they end up working together. Or something. She and the other paladins had _finally_ managed to impair Lotor's ships and thus his ability to fight, and he approached her first for a peace settlement and "agreement of alliance" – as he'd so charmingly called it. It's clear that he’d long since forgotten about her, about the promises he made and what they used to be; the cold, mechanical diplomacy in his voice sends a sharp pain in her chest that radiates all over Allura's body, stabbing her with a pain worse than a thousand knives from the harsh memory of what almost was. The childish radiance of Lotor's unmarked skin is no longer there, replaced instead with a hard, piercing stare and a cold detachment from everything around him.

She barely makes it out without heaving.

When she and the paladins leave the Galran ship, Lotor doesn't notice the trail of petals on the ground.

\- - -

Living in exile on an uninhabited planet in the far corners of the universe for ten thousand years has taught Lotor a thing or two.

He has no memories of his life before the war, let alone his childhood. That witch of Zarkon's had made sure his mind was wiped clean, kept alive as something between a science experiment and an insurance policy for the sake of the empire. He'd been groomed – mentally and physically – for this moment, spent the past ten millennia working, training, _fighting_ for this moment. To be the _perfect_ heir.

He was _not_ about to let it slip away.

Voltron is the enemy. That's all he knows.

In all honesty, it'd been surprisingly easy for Lotor to manipulate the paladins. On top of being uncoordinated as a team, they were gullible enough to fall for his so-called alliance. Especially that princess.

_What was her name again? Allura?_

There's an unsettling emptiness in Lotor's chest as her name rolls off his tongue like thick, sickeningly sweet molasses, but he forces the feeling down before he has a chance to dwell on it for too long.

It's not like he knows her, or anything.

            - - -

She should've known.

She should've _fucking_ known it was a trap, and Allura hates herself for it.

Immediately after she and the paladins had landed and exited their lions, Lotor's generals and sentries had ambushed them, hardly giving them a fleeting tick to register what the _fuck_ was going on.

It's been going on for dobashes. Or perhaps vargas, Allura can't tell. She's far too exhausted, and from the weak, breathless voices of the other paladins over the comms, so are they. The fighting had caused the princess to gradually shift away from the rest of the group, but she continues chasing down Lotor with every intention of stopping him once and for all. Even in her fatigue, all she sees is red, rage and adrenaline coursing her veins as she charges at him, wielding the bayard.

"I'd have thought a woman of your caliber would have had a much better attack planned," he scolds, easily dodging her sluggish lash of her whip. Lotor lunges at her with a grunt, sword drawn.

Despite expecting his attack, Allura barely fends him off with her bayard, the sound resounding against the metal of his sword with a harsh _clang_ that gives her gooseflesh. Her strike deflects his sword to the side harshly and barely manages to keep herself unscathed, which brings a terrifying grin to her opponent's face. With him distracted, Allura lands a roundhouse kick against Lotor's side, sending him to the ground with a pained groan.

"You fight dirty," she huffs.

The whole thing is dangerously reminiscent of the time they'd spent sparring in the castle gardens as children. Hair tied and stances ready, they'd go at it for vargas, and it was always Allura who won. The look of concentration in his eyes mirrors the one he'd had ten thousand years ago, determined to finally bring the Altean princess to her knees.

Except this time, it's not at all fun and games.

He strikes again, aiming for her ribs and this time gets a gash in her side. Not deep enough to be fatal, but enough to tire her out significantly more. She curses and briefly clutches her side, sparing herself a quick glance to gauge her condition.

Lotor makes no further moves and neither does she. Allura waits. She's exhausted, she's bleeding, but the fire in her soul is still burning bright and she uses what energy she has left to try and land another roundhouse kick, this time aiming for his head.

"Only a coward does the same thing twice," he mocks, and then his sword propels into her abdomen. He wrenches it around for good measure, and Allura uses a weak hand to grab onto the hilt of his sword as she meets his gaze with a glare. She coughs and sputters, unable to even take a desperate gasp for air before Lotor uses his grip on her leg to slam the princess to the ground.

Allura's death is by no means honorable. She lies on her back, clawing at the ground and gagging on the blood seeping from her mouth, fighting for her breath with what little energy she has left. His sword is relentless, pulling out of her only to plunge elsewhere into her body. The pain is indescribable, consuming her wholly until her gurgling cries fade to silence.

"You… won't win," she coughs, eyelids fluttering. The pain that once burned her entire being quickly fades into an icy numbness and black fills the edges of Allura's vision as she struggles to keep her gaze on Lotor. Her only love. Her only killer. With her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, the prince laughs haughtily.

"Oh, darling, I'm afraid I already have."

Lotor stands above Allura's lifeless body as he buries his sword further into her, wedging it around and delighting in the slashing of her insides. With a sinister, borderline unhinged smirk, his chest swells with pleasure as he admires his handiwork. _Finally,_ he mused. Killing the Altean princess had once only been a mere dream, but here she was. Guts spilling out of her and splayed out before him on the floor to appreciate as long as he wished.

He kneels beside her and bows his head respectfully, idly twirling a stray strand of her hair around his finger. "It's a shame you didn't hold out longer, Princess," he sighed. "You'd have made a formidable opponent then."

With a sigh, he dislodges his sword from her and like a rag doll's stuffing, flowers immediately come spilling out of her. Lotor withdraws his hand from his sword and it falls unceremoniously to the ground with a _clink_ as he pulls back with a sudden sound of disgust. _Where could these possibly have come from?_

The tiniest voice inside him screams he knows _exactly_ what this is.

Lotor's gaze falls upon the mess of flowers encircling the princess in a mock deathbed. His eyebrows furrow at the morbid sight of the blood-drenched tulip petals scattered all over the floor. There's a melancholic nostalgia in him as he curiously brushes a hand over the crimson soaked petals, tacky against her skin.

Suddenly, the Galran prince hunches over in a fit of coughing, digging his fingers into his thighs. His eyes are blown wide, he can't breathe. It feels like the weight of the whole universe is sitting upon his shoulders, holding him down and making sure he's kept there from relentless, pure agony and Lotor doesn't even realize he's crying until he feels his cheeks are damp with his tears. Gazing into her vacant, hollow eyes, it hits him that they're doomed to stare at nothing for all eternity, and the tears cascade incessantly down his cheeks. Quaking with anguished sobs, his chest is burning hotter than a million suns and he feels like he's drowning – but he doesn't know why.

He's scared, he's so scared, and it's the first time in ten thousand years that Lotor can feel pure, unadulterated fear rising within him in a nightmarish crescendo of lights and colors, threatening to go off with a paralyzing bang. He coughs until all that leaves his lips is blood, but then just like that, all the pain just dissipates into nothingness, as quickly as it came to begin with. His chest seizes at the rush of air entering his lungs and he's dry heaving, body shaking as his vision clears. But the tears still come.

At his feet lies a fully bloomed juniberry, petals stained with blood.

**Author's Note:**

> quote used in the beginning is from georgette heyer's novel, venetia.
> 
> btw special thanks to my friend abel for helping me a lot with this fic and letting me annoy them w it, i love u man ur the best <3<3<3


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